Grave
by KDS99
Summary: When Sherlock returns to the flat after a visit to a grave, John learns what motviates him to solve crime. It's not his love for murders or his want to put bad people to justice. It's something so much bigger...and something so sad.
1. Chapter 1

John typed away on his laptop. His blog had become quite a popular site, and he was proud. He never really thought he could pull it off, but he did. After about 10 minutes of typing, Sherlock came in through the door. John looked up as he entered the room and noticed something odd about him. It looked as though Sherlock were sad, but it couldn't be true. He must be seeing things.

"Where were you…off solving another crime?" John smirked as he closed the laptop. He was done blogging for the day. There was nothing new to write about, but there might be soon. Something is always happening at 221B.

"Graveyard," Sherlock replied correcting John. Sherlock took off his coat and set it on his chair as he went into the kitchen to check his latest experiment.

"Graveyard?" John asked surprised. Sherlock usually hung around some odd places, but it wasn't like him to go to graveyards. Something had to be up. No one just goes to a graveyard to go, not even Sherlock. Everyone has a reason to go, and so did Sherlock.

"Yes John, a graveyard; a place where bodies are buried after death. I was at a graveyard. Is there a problem with that?" Sherlock said quite rudely. John was taken by surprise. He had thought Sherlock was sad about something, but maybe he was angry. Or at least that's how he was acting.

"No, it's just that people don't usually just decide to hang out at graveyards without a reason, so what's yours? Why were you there at the graveyard?" John asked. Sherlock sighed. He was hoping to avoid this conversation with John; it's not one he likes to have with others. It's not one of his most favorite topics to discuss. Actually, it's not a topic that anyone likes to discuss.

"I was visiting a grave," Sherlock said quickly. Sherlock sat in his chair and looked at John and the laptop sitting on the table. "So what have you done today Dr. Watson?"

"I was updating my blog as usually, but I'm not done with you. Whose grave were you visiting?" Sherlock got up and grabbed his coat as he headed back for the door.

"I was visiting my sister's grave," he whispered as he turned the door knob and left 221B.


	2. Chapter 2

John watched as Sherlock left the apartment. Never before had he ever thought that Sherlock and Mycroft could have a sister…or a dead sister. They never said anything to hint towards her existence. Who else knew about her? After waiting for his return after a few hours, John picked up his mobile and dialed a number. He was going to learn more about this mysterious Holmes sister.

"Hello," the person said as they answered the call.

"Mycroft, I need to ask you something…..something important," John said. "Did you and Sherlock have a sister?" Mycroft hung up. As soon as John set the phone down, Sherlock came bursting through the doors of the apartment.

"I'm back," he said as he sat down in his chair after removing his coat and scarf.

"Yes, I can see that. Where did you go?" John asked. Sherlock was quiet; not a word came out. After a few seconds of awkward silence, he spoke.

"I went for a walk to clear my mind," Sherlock said. "I just needed some time." John apologized for interrogating Sherlock earlier about his whereabouts. "It's fine. I just don't usually tell people about… her." Sherlock looked out the window and stared at the city. It was a city that she could never see, so he looked for her. There was so much that she didn't get to see, and there was so much she didn't get to do.

"What was her name?" John asked.

"Lizzy; just Lizzy. Only 12 years old when she died…so young," Sherlock said. John could tell that Sherlock missed her even if he won't admit it to himself.

"What happened to her? Did she get sick or something?" Sherlock got up and stood facing the kitchen as he began to speak.

"She was murdered," Sherlock said," by a mad man." John froze. Lizzy Holmes was murdered. Sherlock's sister was murdered many years ago, and now he's surrounded by all sorts of crimes….including the very thing that ended his own sister's life. "Willis Rove lived down the street from us as kids, but poor Willis wasn't quite right in the mind. One day when she came home, he shot her. He shot her straight in the head in the middle of the street. Then he ran. The police didn't find him for three days. He was hiding out in some warehouse right outside of London. He had committed suicide." Sherlock got up and went into his bedroom. John remained seated in his chair. He didn't really feel like moving, not after what he had just heard. Mycroft, Sherlock, and Lizzy; the three Holmes siblings. Now there were only two. John dialed Mycroft's number again and hoped that this time he would get some answers.

"John, what is it now?" Mycroft answered. "Still wondering about our dearest little sister?"

"Yes, Sherlock said she died….that she got shot. Is that true?" John asked.

"Yes, poor little Lizzy Holmes died in the street at the hands of a mad man. Anything else you'd like to know?" Mycroft said. John took a deep breathe.

"The way you talk about her….it sounds like you don't really care. Like you don't care that your own sister was murdered. Why is that?" John demanded. "She was your sister, and you don't even care that she died." Mycroft chuckled into the phone.

"Lizzy and Sherlock were very close, but Lizzy and I never saw eye to eye. We never really got along, so we just didn't interact with each other. She stayed to herself, and I stayed to mine. That's how it was. Her death never really had an impact on me." John hung up and set his mobile down. He had had enough of Mycroft.


	3. Chapter 3

Meanwhile, Sherlock searched through his room looking for a box; a box full of pictures. He looked under the bed and saw a small brown box. Sherlock grabbed it and lifted up the lid. Inside were dozens of pictures of the little Holmes siblings as children many years ago. Every picture had her in them, but Sherlock was only in about 10 of them. There was only one picture with Mycroft, but that was expected seeing as they never got along, Lizzy and Mycroft. Sherlock looked at the pictures of his dearest little sister. He could hear John outside on the phone, probably looking for answers from Mycroft.

"Lizzy Ann Holmes, you have been missed," Sherlock whispered to himself as he sorted through the pictures. He looked at the small girl in all of them. She had shoulder length hair. It was wavy and dark brown just like her brothers. They all looked the same; Lizzy, Sherlock, and Mycroft. Anyone could tell just by looking at them that they were related if not siblings.

_BANG! Everyone on the street heard the gun shot and ran out, including Sherlock. They all stood in horror when they saw a little girl in the street with blood rushing from her head. Someone ran out to the body and declared her dead. The Holmes family moved closer to see who it was dead in the street as they hoped that it wasn't who they thought it was. Sherlock then recognized the girl as his little sister; she was wearing her favorite scarf just like she did every other day. _

Sherlock thought back on the memory of him seeing his sister dead in the street. He hated the sight of it. Who wouldn't? How could someone see a small child dead in the street and not feel any bit of emotion? Little Sherlock Holmes hated the way he felt, so he locked up all his emotions and hid them away in his mind and only showed them when they were needed. That's how it's been ever since.

Sherlock's scarf lay on his bed. Technically, it was her scarf. After Lizzy died, he kept it. It had become his favorite scarf too. It had become the physical ghost of the memories of dead little girl. They tried to bury it with her, but Sherlock wouldn't let. He couldn't stand not being able to see the scarf again. So he kept it and wore it every day in honor of Lizzy.

"Lizzy," Sherlock whispered quietly to himself. Sherlock sat on the bed and looked at the scarf as he set the pictures of Lizzy next to them. They were all he had left of her part from his memories.

"Sherlock, you okay in there?" John asked from outside the door. Sherlock quickly stashed the pictures under the bed and opened the door.

"Yes, I'm fine," he replied as he hurried past John. Sherlock went into the kitchen and began working on one of his experiments that he had started several days ago. John followed him.

"Are you sure?" Sherlock looked at John and gave him a reassuring smile.

"I'm fine, John. Just like I always am." Sherlock resumed working as John went back to his seat. He looked around the room trying to find something to focus on. He needed to get his mind off of things for a while. After about 15 minutes, John grabbed his coat and headed for the door.

"Sherlock, I'm going out. I'll be back in an hour," John yelled as he went out the door knowing that Sherlock probably didn't even notice he left.


	4. Chapter 4

Molly Hooper was just about to leave. She had her coat ready and headed for the exit. It had been a long day at work, and Molly was ready to go home and relax. She was almost the door when she heard footsteps. Molly spun around, but no one was there. She began to get worried.

"Hello?" Molly said. The footsteps came closer. "Is anyone there?"

"Sorry," John said once he was insight," didn't mean to scare you." Molly smiled in relief.

"No, it's ok. What are you doing here? Does Sherlock need something?" Molly asked. John looked around and made sure they were alone.

"I need to ask you something," John said. "How much do you know about Sherlock's family?" Molly thought for a moment before answering.

"He has his brother, Mycroft, but that's all I know. Why do you ask?" John sighed like he was hoping for more. There was another long pause before Molly spoke again. "John, what is it?"

"I recently learned something…about Sherlock's family, and I was hoping to see if anyone knew anything else because I don't think he likes to talk about what happened. But I think someone else should know…just in case he wants to talk about it or needs help. It's for him," John said. "Just don't tell anyone I was here, all right." John disappeared into the hallway leaving a puzzled Molly alone in the morgue.

As John left the hospital, he stopped outside and looked at the city. He thought of how many die there each day, but only so few are honorably remembered. The others have those select few who remember them, but that's it. That's all there is. What's the point in being remembered if there's no honor to it?

When John returned home, Sherlock was still in the kitchen working away on his experiment. John sighed once more; when he will ever notice his absence. Did he not hear the door the slam? Or the lack of questions being pushed upon him from John? How can Sherlock be so clever and such a genius but can't ever tell when someone leaves the room?

"I'm back, Sherlock," John when he entered the flat. Sherlock looked up from the table confused.

"You left…when?" Sherlock asked. John became quite annoyed at Sherlock. It was fine at first, but now it was getting pretty ridiculous.

"About an hour ago, but you were too busy playing with your toys to notice." John went to his room as Sherlock resumed working. That's about all Sherlock ever does: works.

The next morning, John headed out for the graveyard. He opened up the latch of the gate and entered. They were a lot of graves there; some were old but lots were new. John looked around for a Holmes, but he couldn't find one. Then John saw it. A grave with the exact name he was looking for: _Lizzy Holmes._


End file.
